


I want you to see another day

by orphan_account



Series: I want you (claws, cuddles, and all) [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, BAMF!Merlin, M/M, Merlin is still a warlock, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was possible that he was feeling a bit bitter about the turn his night had taken. Really, though, he thought his response was perfectly reasonable, given that he had spent the last fortnight taking down a group of goblins that had been running an insurance scam out of Cardiff, swindling innocent humans out of their money.</p><p>Or: how Merlin wound up saving a new alpha and joining a werewolf pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I want you to still be alive in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> So, people said they wanted to see how Merlin saved Arthur and wound up tangled up in Arthur's pack, and I decided I may as well. Originally, this was going to be in response to this week's camelot_drabble prompt, but it got too long, and I couldn't make it fit. I'll think of something else for that, though, and it'll probably still be in this 'verse.

It was possible that he was feeling a bit bitter about the turn his night had taken. Really, though, he thought his response was perfectly reasonable, given that he had spent the last fortnight taking down a group of goblins that had been running an insurance scam out of Cardiff, swindling innocent humans out of their money. Originally, his goal for tonight was to relax, take things slow, and let his magic have a bit of a rest. To that end, he had ordered a pizza, rewatched a few episodes of the first season of _Buffy_ , and then decided to take a stroll in order to walk off the half of the veggie pizza he’d managed to consume.

That was his first mistake. There was no such thing as simply taking a stroll - at least, not anymore. Something inevitably interrupted the peace brought by the deep, dark expanse of the night sky, the chill in the air that bid creatures to burrow and people to bundle, the intermittent quiet of a town nearly ready for slumber.

Tonight, the disturbance came in the form of a shiver of awareness, a perking of his magic. It sensed some sort of kindred being, something of the old magic, and it wanted to know more. That was the trouble with his magic. It wasn’t enough that Merlin was naturally what some might consider nosy; his magic was, too.

He debated the matter with himself, standing with his front toward the street, as he swayed indecisively back and forth between the path he liked to take and the direction that other creature would be found. Then a loud howl rattled the dying and decaying leaves departing from the trees. A werewolf, then. Merlin would scoff at the blatant lack of discretion the wolf was showing, but for the desperation he could hear and feel.

Something was wrong with the other magical being, and its pack must have been too far away to respond, because Merlin never heard them and he never felt them.

The possible danger sharpened and focused his previously carefree magic, and he completed the turn toward the werewolf, walking with deliberation now, where before he had been loose-limbed and leisurely. He covered several blocks before he was able to discern voices - voices in the little park where young couples liked to bring their tykes when the sun was high and bright in the sky, but was usually abandoned by everyone aside from the youths partaking in rebellion in the way only those who grew up in the suburbs could: with jaded boredom - and he slowed to hear more, determined not to rush in unprepared. He’d given his mum and his uncle enough scares in the first few years of putting his abilities to good use, acting without all the necessary information.

Nearly unlimited power was hardly worth much without proper direction and knowledge.

Low growling drifted to his ears, along with the taunts and threats of what sounded uncomfortably like a band of hunters. He clenched his eyes shut, leaning against the trunk of a gnarled and rotund tree on the outskirts of the park. His magic snarled in response, furious at the attempt to keep it contained. It wanted to rend, to wreck, to reap the men who dared attack one of his kin.

Merlin abhorred killing for killing’s sake, but his strength came from the earth, and the earth demanded balance; life and death were equally a part of that balance. Still, he was more than a conduit for his powers. His choices were his own.

He focused on that truth, and when he felt mostly in control, he turned and peered around the trunk, careful to keep out of sight. There were six hunters surrounding a partially shifted werewolf, his eyes glowing golden in the way that all creatures of the ancient magic would in times of duress. The werewolf felt powerful enough to take all of them out in the space between one breath and the next - an alpha if Merlin had ever seen one - but the wary way he reacted to the guns pointed at his heart and his head told Merlin there was more than metal waiting to bite into not-quite human flesh.

Looking away from the werewolf, one of the hunters stood out from the other nondescript men, each of relatively average height and appearance. Gritting his teeth, Merlin stepped out from behind his tree. “Aridian. I thought we had reached an understanding. What part of, ‘stay away from my territory, and I won’t curse you until what’s left will fit into an ashtray,’ was unclear?”

Aridian made the sort of face which would only be appropriate if he had seen a golem or a swamp baby. “I wasn’t aware that we were in your territory, Emrys.”

“Right, well, I’ve recently expanded.” Merlin glanced sideways at the werewolf who now had a fraction of his attention on him, and the rest on the men surrounding him. This little ploy of his would accomplish nothing if the werewolf decided not to play along.

“How is that?” Aridian demanded. “You may be powerful, but you cannot be everywhere at once.”

“Maybe not,” he acknowledged, “but with my pack, I don’t have to be.”

A hideous combination of fury and hateful disbelief contorted Aridian’s already harsh features. “Your pack? You’ve joined with the Pendragons? Uther hated your kind.”

“Uther is dead,” Merlin stated evenly, while silently pleading for this to result in something other than his throat being ripped out once the hunters were gone. Of all the alphas, he had to rescue the son of Alpha Uther Pendragon. How did he get himself into these situations? No, really: _how?_ “His prejudices are not his son’s.” Merlin hoped.

“My mistake, then. We’ll go, now, Emrys. But don’t think that this means you can protect every beast that comes your way. They’re monsters, the lot of them, and I will put them down.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Be very careful, Aridian.” Letting some of his control slip, he felt his eyes change color, and the air around him began to shift in agitation.

Aridian nodded his acceptance, his clenched jaw the only sign of his fear. The hunters all stepped away, and one by one started to fade away into the streets.

When the last of them was long gone, Merlin let out a heavy sigh and turned to look at the werewolf he had saved. He let his eyes drink the young alpha in, and then did it again, almost as though the first taste was enough to leave him parched and begging for more. So, this was Arthur Pendragon.

He really was as beautiful as the rumors in the supernatural community said - even as his too-glassy eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed. Merlin sprang forward, barely catching him before he could rudely meet the dirt and grass just outside the play area and letting out a grunt at the sudden load. Frantic, Merlin searched with his eyes and his magic for the source of the young alpha’s distress. There, in his right shoulder, a small hole stared up at him in accusation. He sniffed and smelled faint traces of gunpowder and wolfsbane.

What had he said earlier about wanting a relaxing night?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Long time no see, my ducklings. 
> 
> Sorry about the delay - most of this chapter has been written for more than a month, but I got distracted by the holiday exchange on camelot_drabble, finals, _Teen Wolf_ , and family matters.

The need for secrecy, and the necessity of juggling an ailing and unconscious werewolf, rendered the odyssey from the park and back to his modest one-story home one of the more difficult tasks Merlin had carried out in at least a few months, and that included talking a suicidal griffin down from revealing itself to the human population after the loss of its mate. Still, the two of them arrived more-or-less in once piece, although Merlin was starting to grow seriously concerned over the amount of blood staining Arthur’s light blue shirt. It was a miracle that his dark brown leather jacket had managed to conceal most of the blood from the handful of people they had passed, who merely smiled at Merlin in sympathy, most likely assuming that his companion had been a little too enthusiastic about his alcohol tonight.

He wished that was all that had happened. Unfortunately, werewolves were not even capable of getting sloshed. Their increased metabolism ensured that whatever they consumed was out of their system long before they could so much as approach intoxication.

After glancing around his neighborhood, he felt satisfied that no one was watching, and used a little magic to open his front door. He shifted his charge and made his way inside, heading for the couch. The front door closed and locked behind them, and by the time they reached the ancient blue couch, which at this point almost appeared grey, several towels had already marched down the hall from the linen closet and laid themselves out neatly.

Lowering the young Pendragon painstakingly to the cushions, Merlin kept his eyes on his face, searching for signs of discomfort. Whether realizing he was still unresponsive was a relief or yet another cause for panic, Merlin could not decide. On one hand, at least he was not awake to register the pain. On the other, how likely was it that he ever _would_ wake?

Shaking himself, the warlock began divesting his unconscious guest of his top layers. At any other time, this would be more than enough to turn the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks ruddy, but for some reason, he just couldn’t find it in himself to react to the vision of the torso before him. It must be all of that blood marring the pale plains.

It took a concerted effort to quell the nauseated stirring of his gut, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed, placing his palm above the wound. His eyes flared gold and the pressure in the air grew as he set to work.

He had not stepped in and scared off the hunters just to lose the young alpha now.

...

Shrill and insistent, a teakettle made its demands for attention, dragging Merlin away from the where he had been contemplating the guest still occupying his couch, though he was considerably cleaner and further away from death than he had been an hour ago. The warlock busied himself with making two mugs of chamomile tea, and heard the first stirrings from his unwitting companion. To block out the most recent crop of disturbing memories, all revolving around removing the wolfsbane bullet from the young alpha’s shoulder and then having to draw out what was left of the poison with his own magic, he focused all of his attention on adding honey and milk to his own mug.

“How do you like your tea?” he called softly, knowing the words would still be heard.

Bemused silence followed, and then there was a groggy, “I’m sorry?”

“I asked you how you like your tea,” Merlin reported dutifully.

Fabric rustled in the living room, and then went silent. When his guest joined him in the kitchen, Merlin frowned and clucked at him in disapproval. He should have known the werewolf would refuse to listen to his body’s demands to ease back into things. Werewolves were not known for their patience, nor their biddability. Merlin heard Arthur sniffing the air quietly, and he rolled his eyes, suppressing his exasperation. Werewolves weren’t exactly known for their manners, either. “Milk, no sugar.”

Merlin poured in a little milk and then passed Arthur’s mug off. After putting the milk back in the fridge, he leaned against the counter, his own mug cupped in his hands, and asked, “How are you feeling?”

Arthur took a long pull of his tea and made a pleased noise, before sending him a knowing look and admitting he was, “Tired. A little sore, too. The tea is helping, though.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Merlin told him, shaking his head slowly and widening his already deceptively innocent eyes.

“I can smell magic,” Arthur reminded him keenly, “a fact which you know very well.”

Since that seemed as good an opening as any, Merlin braced himself and said, ”Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundaries by spelling your tea and telling Aridian that we were together.”

Clearly, the tea really was working, because Merlin could see no other way for Arthur to pull off that wicked look. “Together?” the alpha drawled.

Merlin cursed his mum’s side of the family for making him so ghostly pale. It made the blood rushing into his cheeks that much harder to deny. After all, there was no gory wound to distract him this time. “Yes. Me and your pack. Together.”

Gradually, the playful air that had settled about him dissipated, and Arthur gazed at him levelly. “You saved my life tonight. There’s a lot of things I’d be willing to forgive your for after that.”

“You sure?” he checked, not fully ready to allow himself that feeling of relief which kept pressing at him, insisting that all would be well. The times when he felt himself relaxing were typically exactly when things started to truly fall apart. “Your pack doesn’t have the - greatest history with my kind.”

Tilting his head in a particularly lupine manner, Arthur mused with a rueful, contemplative sort of humor, “That’s one way of putting it.” After a beat, he sighed, his eyes falling more sharply upon Merlin’s own. “But I believe you said something earlier tonight, about me not being my father? You were right. I watched my father’s hatred of magic users drive my sister away and weaken our alliances with other packs, and I would not have such weakness in my own pack.”

The careful rein Merlin had kept over his magic during their discussion dissipated at Arthur’s declaration, and he sighed at the release. Although he could maintain a strict control over his magic, the constant need to monitor himself was often more draining that he cared to admit. It was good to know that would no longer be necessary around his guest, especially since he had no way of knowing how long the young alpha would be staying.

Mulling over the possible need for long-term arrangements, Merlin broke the silence which had fallen between them. “We need to find a way to contact the rest of your pack.”


End file.
